Bender
by iloveflyingmotorbikes
Summary: When he leaves his house for good, John Bender is left with no place to go. He ends up at Claire's house.
1. Chapter 1

"Well fuck you and the hole you crawled out of!" John screamed at his father. He jogged to his POS of a car. Over the rev of the engine, he could hear his father cursing at him.

'_Fucking asshole. One more year.'_ He told himself. '_One more_ ye_ar in this shithole, and then I'll never have to see him again.'_

John had been sitting in his car for a solid hour outside her house. He felt like such a creep, but he needed someone right now, and who understood fucked up parents more than the queen be herself.

He'd only been to her house once, after a drunken night together months ago. He had driven her home; both of them had been red-faced and avoiding conversation with each other. Once, on the way back to her house, when he was shifting gears and she was reaching for the heater, their hands had brushed against each other. They'd made eye contact and then, flushing, looked away. It had been her first time; she had been clumsy and apologetic, somehow afraid that she would hurt him. Ha, she couldn't have hurt him if she had tried. She was so damn small.

They hadn't talked much after that. He was sure that she was ashamed and embarrassed that she'd lost it to someone as low on the social totem pole as himself.

'_Don't be a pussy.' _He told himself as he climbed out of the car. He took a deep breath and stepped up onto her curb. He picked up a rock and chucked it nonchalantly at the side of the house, hoping it would wake up her and not her parents. A light clicked on in one of the highest windows, closest to where the rock had hit. The curtains drew back to reveal a red mess of hair. She must have been sleeping. As her eyes focused in on the top of John's head, he could practically see the wheels churning in her head, wondering what on earth had brought him here.

He quickly jerked his head and looked back down at his feet, trying to persuade her to come down. She sighed melodramatically, gave him the finger, and left the view of the window. The light in the room turned off and the curtains were drawn back again.

'_Fuck.'_

Had she gone back to sleep? He knew she was ashamed of what they'd done together, but he'd thought she'd at least want to know why he was there.

Why was he there? Of all the places to go when running away from an asshole of a parent, a girl he'd fucked once and then hadn't talked to since didn't seem like the first rational option. Truthfully, he didn't know what had brought him here. He'd been driving for hours, with his music blasting through his new speakers; zooming up and down the nicer neighborhoods, hoping some old lady would call the cops or a drunken father would go and yell on his porch so he could yell and fight back. God, all he wanted was to fight. Maybe that was why he'd come to Claire. If anyone would be up for a fight it was her. She'd never once put up with his bullshit.

The door opened and she stepped out.

"I just want to make one thing perfectly clear," she stated icily. "I am not a booty call."

"What?" What the fuck was she talking about?

"I am not a slut for you to come to whenever you feel like getting some. I let you give me a ride that night because I was too drunk to do drive myself, not as an invitation to drop by whenever you were lonely."

Is that why she thought he was here? For sex? That was one of the farthest things on his mind. Or it had been before she mentioned it and had moved so close to him that their feet where touching and her hot breath blasting in spurts against his neck. What did she think she was doing in that fucking little pink nightie, talking about him like that?

"That's not why I'm here." He said gruffly, refusing to make lift his face up from the ground. There was a pause, where normally he would have made some crude joke and she would have yelled at him and stormed off.

"Really?" Claire asked hesitantly, almost as if she was scared of his answer. "Why are you," she coughed nervously, "Why are you here, then?"

"I'm," He didn't have to do this. He could just leave. "I just drove and this is where I ended up." That was all he ever had to say about it. If he just made one smart ass remark and tried to cop a feel, it would all be over and back to normal. It would all be so easy. "I think I need help."

AN: So I have more of this story that I'm considering posting. But if I don't get any response, I might just leave it at as a one shot.


	2. Chapter 2

She shot him a confused look.

"John if you need help, first you're going to need to look at me."

He didn't _want _to look at her.

She continued to walk toward him until she had backed him up to his car. She gently placed her hands on either side of his face. Tilting his face forward, her eyes met his.

"Holy shit…" she murmured under her breath.

The usual shadows under his eyes had been replaced by dark bruises that ran across his nose where it had been obviously broken. His lip was bleeding and his hair hung lankly around his face.

"What—"she paused and grabbed his hand, making sure he wouldn't run away. She started again.

"Who did this to you?"

He looked up into her eyes and glared pointedly.

"You know, Claire. Don't pretend not to know."

"We've got to call the police or something!" she moved toward the house.

"No." he glared down at the ground and kicked at a rock.

She stopped and looked at him.

"John, he can't keep getting away with this! You can't have done anything to deserve this. This is your fuck up of a father-"

"Shut up!" he snapped at her. "I screwed up, princess! This was all on me! Don't ever talk about my dad. You don't know my family, and you certainly wouldn't condescend to know anything about my father." Who the hell did she think she was, talking about what people deserved? Fuck, no one ever got anything the deserved. She looked up at him, dumbfounded, as tears began to well up in her eyes. Why the hell was she still holding his hand? He yanked it out from her tight grasp and pulled his tweed jacket closer around him. She grabbed his hand right back and looked around the dark street.

What was she doing?

She pulled him up to here house. He didn't want to go in her _house_! He tried to protest but she ignored him and pulled him through the door and a large entry hall. Continuing up a flight of stairs, she stopped at a white paneled door. She pushed him inside and quietly closed the door.

Her room was exactly what he had expected, lots of pink and family photos. She gently led him over to the bed and sat on the edge, keeping eye contact the whole time.

He opened his mouth, ready to make a joke he knew would make her blush and stutter, but she quickly cut him off.

"You aren't mad at me. You're mad at your dad and don't you dare try to deny it. But, for whatever reason, you won't stand up for yourself."

John snorted and rolled his eyes. She was acting like she was a fucking shrink.

"_You_ asked for _my_ help, John. _You_ came to _me_. So what do you need?"

"I just…fuck Claire!"

She refused to look at him; instead she stared at her hands. She blinked back tears.

"Look," John sighed. "I don't know why I can't, I just can't!"

"That's bullshit, John!"

"Well than you tell me, Claire! Because I don't fucking know! I don't know shit, do I? You're so fucking smart, of course you know!"

Claire stood up and walked toward the door, as she was reaching for the handle she stopped and turned around. She stormed toward him.

"Fuck you, John." She whispered under her breath.

She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him close to her.

"Fuck you."

And she closed the gap between him.


End file.
